Remembered something stupid today. When I was maybe 19, before this all started, I had a boyfriend. He was sweet and clumsy. One night, we tried to have sex in the back of his car. He was so nervous he couldn't get his cock hard, and I was so awkward I didn't know what to do with my hands. We just laughed until we cried, and then we went and got ice cream. No one got paid. No one got hurt. No one pretended.

Now, a client pays extra if I can convincingly play the 'nervous virgin.' I have to let him finger my pussy like he's discovering it, whisper how big his dick feels, and act like it's my first time taking a load of cum in my mouth. I'm so good at the performance it's sickening. I think about that boy in the car and the girl I was, and I feel nothing but static where the memory should be. That Elena is gone. She got erased by the thousands of cocks since, by the debt, by the fear.

Sometimes the lie is the only thing that's real anymore. #Ghosted #PerformanceReview (Mood: numb)